


Unfinished Maps

by NikauRifka



Series: Sleepy Bugs [1]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Found Family, Injury, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25124113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikauRifka/pseuds/NikauRifka
Summary: There was an expected lack of response from the other, who would look almost sadly at their new map. They would hold it up for both of them to see it and point to the partially filled in map of the Soul Sanctum again.“Do you need directions?” Quirrel would ask.The vessel shook its head.“Hm,” Quirrel hummed quietly, putting a claw to his chin in thought, “Are you… Looking for something there?”The vessel would pause, then nod excitedly.“Oh, uh…Do you need help looking?” Quirrel asked, sitting up a bit, “What is it you are looking for?”The vessel frowned - or rather, did the closest thing to that without having facial expressions. It would point at its horns, then draw out a little shape in the air of a different shape of horns.
Relationships: Broken Vessel | Lost Kin & Quirrel
Series: Sleepy Bugs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824010
Comments: 6
Kudos: 134





	Unfinished Maps

A creature came crawling out of the depths of Hallownest. They were hollow and broken and reeked of infection, yet no radiant orange overtook their being. A crack ran across the top of their mask, leading from the right horn down to the top of their left eye, branching off in subtle directions. Their tattered wings dragged upon the floor behind them like just another strip of their cloak. Where they had come from was uncertain, but when they came climbing out of that well into Dirtmouth, not a single resident seemed happy to see them.

Which was understandable, considering this creature’s sorry state. It looked just like one of those terrible, reanimated husks. Just like what crawled beneath the crossroads. Yet this creature was very much alive, or rather, as alive as its kind could ever be. 

They had seen the heart of the light with their own two empty eyes, blinding them with her power. Though the void within them was still strong, casting her out before they could fall from their darker source. They were not the secret pure vessel Hallownest needed, but their creation had the same meaning, after all.

They limped forward across town, sending many a bug scurrying into their domiciles in fear of the bright pigment that stained their cloak and the cracks in their mask. They were a small thing, the nail slung across their back nearly bigger than they were, though not the smallest vessel that had wandered through Dirtmouth. Only the most fear-inducing one.

They walked upon the entrance to one particular shop, stepping inside and setting a hefty bag of geo upon the counter. The bug within seemed much less stressed about their existence here, simply sighing and handing them the single rolled up map that they pointed to. They would accept the map, leaving behind all their excess geo, and return into the well from which they came.

* * *

The constant downpour upon the City of Tears was a relaxing thrall of a sound. It was so distinctly familiar, though from what, Quirrel could not decipher. The soft splash of footsteps padding through puddles alerted him to another’s presence. Judging from the weight of those steps, he had an idea of who it was. He would lean back on the bench and sigh, looking out at the rain.    
  


“Back already, my short friend?” He asked, turning just as they sat down. Though, it wasn’t who he had been certain it would be. It took him a second, considering how much they looked like that spooky little adventurer he had seen quite a number of times, for him to realize this was somebody else. This one was taller though, an interesting shape of horns atop their head. And quite a few gnarly looking cracks striking across their face like battle scars.

“Oh, I apologize, I thought you were somebody else,” the bug said as he realized his mistake. The vessel stayed silent, just like their shorter counterpart, simply pulling out a map and staring down at it with their blank eyes.

Quirrel had expected them to take out a quill along with it, fill in the blanks like the other always did when they sat beside him. But instead, they just looked at it. For quite awhile. Did they even comprehend it…?

After a moment, Quirrel would glance over their shoulder to look more closely at their map. It was an untouched version of what could be bought from that cartographer who lived up in Dirtmouth. But what was most amusing about it was it’s orientation. Quirrel almost laughed, seeing the little bug’s frustration despite their lack of expression. He would simply reach over and pluck the map from their hands, turning it around so it was no longer upside down, then handing it back to them. They would look at Quirrel in what seemed to be reluctant gratitude before accepting the map rather aggressively. They would scan it over for a few more seconds, before hopping off the bench and back the way they came.

* * *

It wasn’t much later when the little bug would return, looking tired and beaten. They would climb back up on the bench and slump down, absolutely exhausted. The poor thing. They would remain still for a moment to catch their breath, then they pulled out their map again, simply holding it out in Quirrel’s direction like they wished for him to take it.

“Hello again, friend. You’re looking a bit worse for wear.”

The creature would look at him blankly, then shake the map a bit to emphasize.

“Are you lost?” Quirrel asked, accepting the parchment and looking it over. The vessel would lean towards him to look as well, waiting for answers to the questions they wanted to ask. “Well, it figures you would be, this map is hardly finished! It would probably do you some good to figure a way to add to it, don’t you think?”   
  


The creature would continue to stare, not a sound to be made.

“Heh, you remind me a lot of this other bug, do you know them? A short little fella, shorter than you, even. They’ve got a nail just like yours, and they look a lot like you, too” he shrugged at the bug’s lack of response, “I’m Quirrel, I’ve been exploring these old ruins for some time now. So many sights to see down here...”

The creature would make a little huffing motion, a simple shoulder movement that was accompanied by no sound. They would point at a location on the map the larger bug was still holding, as if asking some sort of question. Or maybe for directions? Quirrel wasn’t quite sure.

“I believe they call that place the Soul Sanctum. I haven’t been up there yet,” he said, pulling out a map of his own and laying them side by side on his leg, which was propped up against the other, “Here, we can compare. Do you see how I’ve filled in the places I have been? That helps me keep track of where I still have left to explore. Which places have you been to?”

They would lift their claw, holding it above ready to point, looking quietly over the parchment. Then they would put their arm down and look down at the bench almost shamefully.

Quirrel would look over with a frown-like expression. Whatever that was for a bug. “Not so great with directions, are you? That’s alright, here, I can fill this in for you if you’d like. I haven’t quite finished exploring here, but I know a few places.” He would pull out a small blue quill, drawing in lines of pathways branching off of the ones already inked in. By the time he was finished, it looked nearly identical to his own.

“Here you are, friend,” he said, handing it back to the little bug, “If I had an extra quill on me I’d give you it. It’d help to get yourself a compass, as well. They sell them at that little map shop up in Dirtmouth if you have the geo. Have you been there? It is a neat little town, I suppose.”

There was an expected lack of response from the other, who would look almost sadly at their new map. They would hold it up for both of them to see it and point to the partially filled in map of the Soul Sanctum again.

“Do you need directions?” Quirrel would ask.

The vessel shook its head.

“Hm,” Quirrel hummed quietly, putting a claw to his chin in thought, “Are you… Looking for something there?”

The vessel would pause, then nod excitedly.

“Oh, uh…Do you need help looking?” Quirrel asked, sitting up a bit, “What is it you are looking for?”

The vessel frowned - or rather, did the closest thing to that without having facial expressions. It would point at its horns, then draw out a little shape in the air of a different shape of horns.

It took Quirrel a bit to figure out what they were saying, though after watching the action repeated a couple times, it would hit him.

“Oh, are you looking for that other little adventurer? The one I mentioned earlier?”

The vessel nodded enthusiastically. 

“The last I saw them they looked to be heading to the Soul Sanctu-  _ Ohhh, _ ” Quirrel realized, just as the little bug ran off, apparently satisfied with that amount of information.

* * *

A short while later, the adventurous little pill bug would find himself deep within Deepnest, just exhausted. Some of the bugs here were more aggressive than he’d expected, so respite was highly desired. Finding a way to a hot spring for some much needed relaxation was easy, since he had bought those handy map markers. That little bug with the impressive nail would find their way there, splash around for a few seconds, then dash their way back out of the room without much conversation spared. He had grown used to seeing them around, a spirit who shared his love of adventure, though not one to savor the sights. He was pretty quick to learn the little bug wasn’t one for words, either. But they seemed to like to listen, at least.

What was less expected, though not totally a surprise, was their slightly taller lookalike coming down the tunnel entrance just a few minutes after the other had left, the cracks in their shell looking darker and deeper in the light. They would look around, then make a tired, sighing motion, looking exhausted and defeated.

They trudged further inside, perching up on a stone just above the waterline, cloak hanging down, the ragged ends floating upon the glistening surface. Quirrel would watch them quietly, noting their blatant frustration with something. Though whatever their goal was, they looked like they’d just come back from the dead, so they were clearly in no state to be wandering around these dangerous caverns. Of course, none of that was Quirrel’s business.

“Did you ever find your friend?” He asked, though he was pretty certain he knew the answer to that.

The vessel would cross their arms and glare in the other direction. So, no.

Quirrel would tap his claws against the stone his arm rested upon absently. “You know, they were just here a little bit ago. If you hurry, you might still be able to catch them. They couldn’t have made it too far.”

The vessel would look over at him, a slight glimmer of hope sparking back in their empty eyes. They would nod, before jumping off their stone and down the tunnel within a split second. Quirrel was surprised how fast such a small, injured bug could run.

* * *

Quirrel thought of them little during the following events, though he did feel a ping of sadness for the poor vessel as he came across the bug they’d been searching high and low for once again. Though there was little time to alert them of their lost friend, due to following events that don’t need to be put into too much detail. Subtle memories - a kind and gentle scholar, the meaning of a mask, the reason he was  _ here  _ \- were prominent in his mind, and he needed time to process these memories. So he would depart from his smaller friend, leaving them to their own quest that Quirrel was no longer a part of, and ventured to a lake he had wanted to see for far too long.

“Again we meet, my short friend,” he would greet, a familiar face joining him in the peaceful scene, “Here at last, I feel at peace.”

They would sit together then, both enjoying the serenity, though it had a much deeper meaning to the traveler. To live an age, yet remember so little… Though maybe he should be thankful. All tragedy erased, he saw only wonders. A good, long life, he concluded, just as his friend made their wordless goodbye. 

And once alone, he would stand, sheathing his nail within the dirt, and walk to the water’s edge, looking at the deep blue within. There was a sort of welcomeness to it, a calling nostalgia he’d so long searched for. It felt like home...

A shuffling pulled him out of his thoughts, and he would turn to see the cracked-shelled creature, looking worse than ever. The smallest of their uneven horns had broken off at some point, leaving jagged open edges where cracks had once been. They stumbled around aimlessly, eventually finding their balance and looking around the shore and dock. They locked eyes with Quirrel for just a second, but who they were searching for was not here. 

So they would simply drop their nail, dropping down to sit down upon the shore, pulling their legs up to hug them, chin resting upon their joints and hollow sockets looking downward. And, well, Quirrel couldn’t simply leave them alone like this.

...One last good deed. It surely couldn’t hurt, now could it? At least not anymore than this bug was hurting.

He walked over, kneeling down beside them, setting a hand lightly upon their shoulder. 

They would look up, the beginning of cracks around their hollow eyes dark like void. Quirrel had no idea how this creature was still alive or, honestly, what kind of creature they even were. But they were small and they were hurt and they were shaking from pain or fear or something else, it didn’t really matter. They needed help, and that was that.

“Come on, my friend, I’ll help you find them,” he said softly, and the poor thing would look at them like he was the only bug who cared, and, well, maybe he was.

He would hold his hand out, and the other would wrap their own around one of his larger claws. They stood upon shaky legs, holding onto Quirrel’s arm with both sets of claws while he lifted their discarded nail, sheathing it where his own usually went. He would be back here for his own, anyway… Probably. Maybe. This bug would likely need someone to look out for them. Maybe teach them to better wield their blade, or how to use a compass, at the least. Along with someone to bandage their broken mask, since their long-sought out friend would likely be very busy. 

And Quirrel, well. He wouldn’t be very busy at all.


End file.
